Kids in the Wastez
by Pigeon Man
Summary: 2 teens in the Fallout universe, in a nutshell. Please R&R more coming soon. Rated PG13 for potty-mouth and gecko/people hunting.
1. Wastez

"Oh crap! You see that one's head fly?!?"

Matt had just shot another gecko.

"Yeah I saw it. But seriously though, when you shoot one you shoot em all"

That was me, a weak, scrawny kid in the world of the wastes. Me and Matt had been out doing anything we could for food and shelter from the damn acid rain. Gecko skinning was popular this season.

"Not for me! Blowing heads off o' various critters is the most fun I ever had!"

That was Matt. He's big, strong, and can bust-a-cap in a suckah like nobody's business. I'm glad he's hanging around, cuz I don't like being alone in this messed up place.

"Hey! We gonna shoot er you gonna sit there?"

"I'm comin', Matt."

We had managed to find some guns to protect ourselves in this place. It's a funny story, the way Matt got his. We were wandering out and about when we saw this radscorpion nest. We scouted it from afar so as to not attract them. I saw something shining faintly in the sun. It was a gun! And a nice one at that! So's me and Matt make up this plan to distract the scorpions and get the gun. My job was to throw rocks at them and get em all pissed off. Then when they came out, mad as hell, Matt would sneak in and grab the gun. It worked, till we found out the gun had no bullets. So we ran… and ran… and ran some more. Woulda laughed if we could see it on holo-disc. 

So I stole some bullets for it. Stealin' and snoopin' are my forte'. After all, I gotta be good at _something_, don't I? So anyway, I stole these bullets that fit in the gun, luckily. Later on me and Matt learned it was a **_"Berry 9millowmeters"_**, whatever that meant. All we cared about was that it was a gun and it was ours. It was the only gun we owned for a while. Sure we always took turns practicing, but I left most of the shootin up to Matt.

Later on I'd gotten a gun, too. Wasn't as fun as getting the **_Berry_**, though. If playing with fire is fun. We just saved up enough junk we'd found (or stole), and traded it to some chick with a wagon and a lotta ape-like men with some mean guns. I was glad they were decent, cuz they coulda easily taken our stuff and left us for dead. Nah, they just traded with us, fair and square. So I got one that was a "_revolver_", not like the **_Berry_**, which was an "_automatic._" That meant I had to put loose bullets into 6 separate holes, which would take a while. Matt just loaded in clips. But when we only had loose bullets and empty clips, he had to jam bullets into them. It's hell, believe me.

"JON! Hurry up!"

"Sorry, Matt. Inner monologue buggin' me again."

The hunt was good. We found a gecko runt to pick on. A few bullets-none wasted. I'd be the one to carry that one once we found another, since it was light. We saw a pack of geckos, too many too take. Plus we were only looking for one more, that was all we could carry. Then we saw a Goldie. I was scared. So was Matt. 

We didn't think our fire power could take it out, not from what we had once seen. A Golden Gecko, oblivious to the bullet wounds it suffered, ravaged a group of trappers, charging and clawing them one by one. They had real _automatic_ weapons- the kind that fired a lot if you held the trigger. We had "**_pea-shooters_**," as a few professional hunters had smirked. And a **_Berry _**and **_Pea-shooter_** didn't sound like powerful guns.

We held our breaths. The Goldie sniffed, looked around, and went on. I wasn't sure about Matt, but I was close to messing myself.

"Damn, that was too close," Matt said, sighing heavily. "We gotta be careful round those."

"Let's hurry up with the hunt, I don't want a Goldie on our asses or the carrion critters eating our other kill," I said, collapsing under my rubbery legs after that scare. I'm a coward, ok?

We caught a bigger gecko off guard. I made a few exit wounds through its gut and Matt finished it off with a square bullet between the eyes.

"Whoo! You see that'un, Jon?"

"Yeah, I it was a clean hit."

"Damn straight!" yelled Matt. "Let's get the kills and head back.'

So we went, guns holstered and geckos on our backs. It was an hour's distance from the hunting grounds to the couple of shacks one might call a town. And, for now, it was home.

"Howdy, boys!" shouted Stumpy-Joe, the one-legged gun merchant.

"Hey, Stumpy," me and Matt both said, almost in unison.

"Good hunt, I see. You jist come right back to ole' Stumpy-Joe with those gecko hides and I'll fix you up right an' proper with all yer gunnin' needs."

"Sure, we'll be back," Matt said.

The town was a mess. But it was better than nothing. Most people just pitched tarp tents outside, and it was home. The luckier, or wealthier, whichever you prefer, had shacks made of rusty metal and anything else they could find. We bought a cheap tarp just for the purpose of having a shelter to protect us from the elements. I was always fond of sleeping under the stars.

"Let's go to Happy's and get em skinned," declared Matt.

Happy was the name of a retired trapper. He'd seen plenty in his days, and could always offer us advice. Could skin a gecko in the blink of an eye, too.

"Yo, Hap! We need these skinned," Matt said as he burst through the door.

Happy whistled. "Coupla' beauties ye got yourselves, doncha?"

"Yeah, these were easy. But we saw a Goldie' out there." I said, quivering a little.

"Damn! You two were lucky it didn't spot you," Hap said. "You need to be really careful around those, k?"

"Yeah, and we know why," Matt said.

"Well, as long as your not dead you're still customers! So what can Happy do for you two strapping, young gentlemen today!" Happy said, turning on his businessman charm.

"We want these cleaned, skinned, and the meat back, please," I replied. Gecko meat was good eatin' if you knew how to prepare it. We poke sticks through it and let it fry on a spit, like an iguana. Yum!

"No problem, kids. Be back in an hour or so."

We went to our tent. It was a little cramped, so we had to crouch down. Inside were a couple of sacks filled with anything soft we could find, which served as pillows. Next to them was our precious, precious, stuff. This was an honest community that understood that we had to work together to survive, so me and Matt left our belongings in the tent. Anywhere else and it wouldn't have left my back… ever.

I was hungry. I grabbed a big chunk of gecko from my pack and started eating. It was good. My teeth could go through it easily - it wasn't tough, like brahmin jerky. I savored its juicy flavor. Someone told me it tastes like a pre-war domestic animal, known as a "_chikkehn,"_ I think.

Matt was fiddling with his gun. It was his most precious belonging, like my gun is to me. He set it down and fiddled through his pack. He pulled out a small shiny object. He flipped the lid on the top and struck down on one end. Sparks shot out, and fire emerged from the top!

"Damn! A fire bringer! Where the hell'd you find that?"

"Out in the wastes, duh. This'll come in handy."

"Yeah," I said. "Just make sure no one takes it."

"I'd blow their brains out." Matt grinned.

So we went back to Happy's shack. He had the pelt, shiny and glistening, and several big cuts of raw meat laid out.

"Thanks, Happy. We'd be lost without."

"It's no prob, kids. You just come here if you need anything, ya hear?"

"Yeah, thanks Hap," replied Matt.

"Ya'll come back now!"

ß MORE COMING SOON!à 


	2. Survival

Later that night we sat outside roasting prime cuts of gecko with some nuka-cola. Matt brought up an interesting discussion.

"Why are we living? Six-feet-under in a pine box would beat being alive in a crappy world like this, wouldn't it?"

"Go ahead, try and end your misery right now," I said impassively.

Matt brought his gun to his head with his finger on the trigger. We sat, perfectly still, for at least five minutes. Eventually, he brought the gun down again.

"I-I just couldn't do it…"

"It's the will to live, Matt. Nothing in the world wants to die. **_Nothing_**, no matter what people say. Survival is the point of existence. Things are alive so they can… live, I guess."

"What about suicides?" Matt questioned.

"Well… uh… suicides they… um… they… --"

"Ah-ha!" Matt exclaimed. "So you **don't **know everything!"

"Hey, back off, I only pretend to know what I'm talking about, ok?"

I sure do like pretending to be the smart one, don't I?

We finished our food and faded to the world of dreams. I didn't know or care what would happen the next day, because all that mattered was surviving a day at a time.


	3. Beyond

3 years have passed. Matt's 16, and I'm 15.

That old "town" is far behind us now. As the days went by we started to muster more and more gecko pelts. More than we could carry or even use. Their value wasn't worth the weight of 100 stinky flaps of flesh. So we decided to donate them to the "community" for a better cause.

And a for a better cause they did get used. One day a caravan passed through the town. This never happened before, and I'm sure they were lost. Everyone, the whole 23 people in the town, came to see all the shiny things being peddled. 

Suddenly it hit us like a miniature-nuke smashing directly into our skulls. _We could trade all those damn hides!_ For all the skins and some other junk of no practical necessity, the town got building materials, like rusty metal, nails, warped wood, and even some paint for the fancy folk. 

For the first time, the people could actually call this place a town. A **real **town! In thanks for our part, the people agreed unanimously to name the town "____." That's right, it's still _the town with no name_.

We may never see that town again. I don't know about Matt, but I miss it. Even Stumpy Joe, who always used to rip us off because he was the only gun merchant around. _Where the hell did all that weaponry come from, anyway?_


	4. Weapons

I didn't care where it came from or how Stumpy got it. We had the stuff. We wanted new guns. Although we still have our first firearms that saw us through some tough times, they only serve as side arms to our new, really big boom-sticks. Matt got a nice **_"Hehkkler and Koch Em-Pee five." _**It fitted him perfectly, because he could easily control it in his now-beefy grip. Also it had the same ammo as his **_Berry_**. 

I was looking for something that would fit me just as good. It had to be smaller and easy to control. Shotguns looked too powerful for me to handle. Most rifles were huge in comparison to liddle ole' me. Then I saw it.

"What the hell is this thing?!?" I demanded, staring at this odd weapon. It looked as though a pistol, in a drunken stupor, accidentally mated with a _sub-machine-gun_, like the kind Matt has.

"They call that un' a **_'Scorpio Machine Pistol.' _**rather unique I'd say. It's like Matt's **_H n' K_**, but it's the size of a pistol. A big friggen' one."

"Well gimme that one! Its perfect!"

And so we both received our new "tools."


	5. On the Road

And so we packed up our precious, precious stuff and bid the town a fond farewell.

"Where to now?" I asked Matt.

"Uh… that way!" he pointed in a random direction.

I sure hoped Matt knew what he was doing. I'd never traveled more than a couple miles away from _____ (ya know, the town with no name).

"A-marchin' we will go! A-marchin we will go! Hie ho th-"

"Shut the hell up!"

It went on like that for a long time. We walked, and walked… and walked, living of the local nuke-veggies.

--SUDDENLY!--

"Well, hello there kiddies!" came a sinister voice from the bushes.

A large man in frayed armor composed of anything solid emerged from out of hiding. Another man came with him.

"I hope you don't mind us helping ourselves to your belongings?"

"Piss off, a-hole," Matt said fearlessly.

"I think you need to be taught a lesson. Lester, advance on them."

"Lester? Psh hahaha! Wow, no other name could strike so much fear into us…." I said.

They drew forth switchblades and started "advancing on us."

"Just a second please!" Matt said in a sing-song voice.

We rummaged through our precious, precious stuff and brought out or boom-sticks.

"Guns vs. knives?… hmm… _run like hell, Lester!_" 

They ran off from whence they came, but not before Matt shot the big, annoying guy in the foot.

"Kids with guns are dangerous, ya know!"


	6. Trap

We continued trekking in the direction Matt pointed in for a while. Nothing important had happened since the run-in with the losers-- er I mean highwaymen. But there was something unsettling about one day. It was a little too quiet…

"I don't like this… I don't like it at all," I whispered.

"Don't like what?"

Before I could answer, bandits came at us from all angles, including the previous two.

"Shouldn't have messed wit' us."

Crap.

"You leave dem' boys alone, sonny!" came a creaky voice.

There was rustling in the foliage. It came from everywhere. Gun barrels poked out from the leaves. Who ever this old guy was, he had a lot of friends who were packin' heat.

"Drop yer guns now, bitchiz!"

Terrified, the bandits dropped there weapons and huddled in fear.

"Kids, tie them up right an' proper!" a rope dropped down.

After we had the raiders secured in a more-than-snug fashion, the old man revealed himself. Yet, where were the others?

"Boba I am. Help you I can. Yerrr!" he said in a raspy voice.

"What the hell?…"

"Where are the others that were with you?" I asked.

"Others? Others there were none…"

The somewhat-senile man revealed a brilliant trap. He had ropes connected to each other that all rustled the bushes at the same time and had guns cleverly set on them.

"Wow" Matt said, mystified.

"You bastard! We'll cut your heart out and force it down your throat you old bag!"

"You wont do anything, not after this. Boys, smear this here honey all over them. Then watcha gotta do is drag them to this here ant pile…."


	7. Boba

Boba.

What the hell was his problem. What the hell was he on.

He lived in a tree. He domesticated a 3-eyed squirrel named "Mumpy." He ate anything that wasn't poison. He smelled like Brahmin… stuff.

Mumpy had a disgruntled leg and half of a tail. He (or she, or maybe both, I really couldn't tell) had only one ear, it appeared that the other was chewed off. Perhaps in a starved stupor, it was self-inflicted.

No matter. After all, Boba did save our lives, right?

"Well, sonnies, quite a scrape almost you got into."

"Yeah, we were traveling when two of those guys came at us. We scared them off by proving we were armed _and_ dangerous. They came back, with buddies and a vengeance. Then you came with your crazy contraptions and saved us. Thanks, I guess."

"Don't mention it, sonnies. Just remember the most important rule of life: **NEVER TRUST ANYONE**."

"Uh, gee, thanks, Boba, we'll be sure to do that so we can grow up to be… just like you…" Matt said, a little freaked and really itching to leave this place as fast as possible.

But we didn't leave that soon. We stayed, knowing his hospitality would be hard to come by for a while afterwards. He proved to us he was a brilliant idiot, and a stupid genius. He had devices, like the rope trap, all built around and in his tree. They were extremely clever, such as a water-mill that powered a pre-war _stove_. And yet, for all these things that he created, such a fool I never did see. He was clumsy, as well as a bit delusional. But he didn't seem to have a problem with it, because in his own little world, he was happy.

"Boys, before you leave, you should know the whereabouts of a town near here. It's only a few days travel east, er, that way."

"Thanks Boba, for the directions and for the shelter. Oh, yeah, and for saving our asses."


End file.
